


A Red Wolf Emerges

by VividDreamer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Multi, Pregnancy, Protectiveness, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-02 02:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VividDreamer/pseuds/VividDreamer
Summary: There is a chance to escape the monstrous place she used to call home. There is a chance to break free from the vile animal that is her husband. A wolf gets away from the hold of the men who flay, and finds solace in a city full of snakes.**Hiatus**





	1. Wolf In A Bird's Cage

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first story! First, I changed a little bit of stuff in my story from what happened in the show and books. Oberyn does not die and he beats the Mountain. Sansa is still married to Ramsay (sorry). Also, Jon is not dead, yet! But, he will die in this story. This is where things get tricky. Jon's death will take place 2 weeks before it did in the show and books. The time switch up will play a major part in this story. You will have to see for yourselves. Anyway, enough of my yapping! Enjoy!

The frigid air that filled the room used to feel like home. Not anymore. Her home now belonged to a monster. A monster that is her  _ husband. _

Sansa curled up in the corner of the bed. She shivered against the frigid air, but didn't dare try to cover herself with tainted sheet beside her Ramsay still refused to have the handmaidens change the linens on her bed. 

A shuffle interrupted the silence in the room.  _ Theon. _ Sansa immediately knew it was him. The creak of the windows closing filled her ears. She pushed herself shakily on one of her bruised arms.

“Did you do it? Did you put the candle where I told you?” Sansa’s raspy voice asked.

Theon avoided her pleading eyes. He picked up the tray of food, he left on the small corner table, and walked over and placed it gently at her feet. He bowed his head and went to leave her chamber. Theon paused at the sound of her whimpers. “ You told him, didn't you?” She whispered with tears in her blue eyes.

“You should eat, my lady.” Theon—Reek mumbled. Without another word, he fled the room. The helpless girl collapsed back on the feather bed. Sansa allowed the tears of despair to come descending down her face. She lashed out her foot quickly and caught the end of the tray. Sansa watched as the food went crashing to the floor.  _ I’ll starve myself then, _ she thought to herself,  _ If I die it will be by my own hand.  _

* * *

* * *

 

 

In Sunspear, Oberyn Martell curled his hands around his lover’s waist and gave her peck on the lips. 

“Ellaria, I promised Obara that I would train with her this morning.” The Dornishman spoke. Ellaria hooked her leg around his thigh and pulled him closer. She buried her face in the crook of his tanned neck and purred.

“Stay with me, lover,” His paramour replied as she placed an open mouth kiss on his neck, “ Obara is strong, fierce warrior. She needs to learn on her own.” 

Oberyn untangled himself from her passionate grip and slipped out of bed. He grabbed his silk tunic from the floor and pulled it over his head. “The strongest warrior still has things he does not know.” Oberyn said, fastening his jeweled belt around his waist. “My love, it won’t be long. And when I return, I will  _ ravish _ you.” He purred promisingly.

* * *

* * *

 

 

It had been a fortnight since Theon had revealed Sansa’s plans to Ramsay. Her body still ached from the blows she took when he came to visit her that night. 

_ “The cooks prepared for you a lovely meal, and you dump it all over the floor.” His sickly sweet voice sounded from the door. Sansa kept her back to him. Her hands started to shake in utter fear. “Where did your manners go, my sweet wife?” Ramsay asked as he started making his way to the bed, “You keep your back towards your husband while he’s speaking to you.” He sat down on the bed and lay his hand gently on her ankle.  _

__ _ “The food was not made to your liking.” Ramsay stated. Her husband tightened his grip on her ankle. “That’s why you didn’t eat, right? I’ll have those cooks flayed then, my sweet wife.” He relished in the whimper that fell from her lips.  _

__ _ “No, please,” Sansa gasped out, “The food was good. I just knocked it over...I didn’t mean to.” _

__ _ “Now, I thought I told you that I don’t like liars. Yet, you lie. Not only did you lie, but I also hear you were planning on leaving me.” He spit out as his pale blue eyes blazed with rage. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sansa said.  _

__ _ “Reek!” Ramsay called out. Theon shuffled into the room with his head bowed and eyes downcast. “Yes, my lord.” He answered back. _

__ Theon went on to reiterate the plan to his master. The candle, broken tower, and her Northern friend. Ramsay beat Sansa with Theon still standing in the corner. He never touched her face though. Never her face. With every blow that landed on her frail body, Theon would flinch and a tear would fall from his eye. And when that wasn’t satisfying enough, Ramsay unlaced his breeches and shoved himself inside her. Sansa sank deeper and deeper into her own thoughts with her every violent thrust.

_ This is my home, my body, and I won’t let a monster think he owns it. _

* * *

* * *

 

 

“Again!” Oberyn commanded his daughter. His eldest daughter huffed out an exasperated sigh. Duck, roll, step, and attack. They repeated over and over again, until Obara collapsed tiredly on the sand. Obery stabbed his spear in the ground and stood over her with his hands on his hips. A sheen of sweat covered his face and bare arms. Sometime during their sparring, Oberyn had taken off his silk robe and tunic. His tan skin gleamed under the burning sun. 

“Up! Come on, my daughter. It is not even midday, yet!” Oberyn teased with amusement blazing in his dark eyes.

“Fuck’s sake!” Obara shouted at him as she shielded her eyes from the sun.“Excuse me, your grace,” A young servant girl called out.

Oberyn turned his head towards the young woman and watched as a blush spread into her cheeks once she caught sight of his bare chest. The Dornishman smirked at the blushing maiden and walked over to her. He raised his dark eyebrows at her as a signal to speak.

“Your grace, Prince Doran wishes to speak with you.” 

The young girl lead him through the palace and into his solar. Oberyn’s brother, Doran sat in his palanquin, due to his gout, while tapping his fingers on a piece of paper that is laying on the table. 

“Yes, brother.” Oberyn sat down across from him and folded his hands on the table. 

“I received a raven from Brienne of Tarth.” His older brother told him.

“Regarding?” Oberyn asked intrigued.

**“The Stark girl.” **


	2. Taking The Leap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote quite a bit, for my standards at least. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

 The meekness that was visible in Sansa in her bedchamber always vanished once she stepped a foot outside her cage. Her eyes flared with anger as she struggled to keep her tears back. Three flayed bodies, each hanging on a x-shaped cross, with their dead eyes staring at the sky. Two of the cooks and her Northern friend.

  Ramsay leaned in and planted a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. He pulled away with an evil smile, his eyes gleaming satisfaction. 

“See, my wife. Bastards  _ can _ rise high in the world. I have a beautiful wife, who will soon give me an heir, and am soon to be Warden of the North.” 

  Sansa curled her fingers into her palms and dug her fingernails in deep. She could hardly restrain herself from launching at him and dragging her nail across his face. 

 “Take her back to chamber.” Ramsay ordered two of his guards.

  Once back in her bedchamber, she sat looking out the window. His words on repeat in her mind.  _ Bastards can rise high in the world. Give me an heir. Warden of the North. Bastards can rise high in the world. Jon. JON.  _ Sansa straightened up instantly. Ramsay had mentioned Jon to her earlier before he showed her the dead bodies.  _ Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.  _

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

  “Sansa Stark?” Oberyn inquired.

   Doran nodded his head once and peered back down at the parchment on the table. Oberyn continued to stare at his brother, waiting for him to proceed with talking.

  "She is back in the North, Winterfell, with her husband, Ramsay Bolton.” The Dornish Prince stated.

   “The Lannisters allowed this to take place?” He didn't doubt that Cersei Lannister handed off Lady Stark to those monsters. But, to just let her return home, that confused him.

   “Apparently,” Doran muttered as he shifted the best he could into a more comfortable position, “ Cersei Lannister is vengeful, but she also is lost. Lost without her father, Tywin, to lead. She probably wants to do so  _ much _ , but doesn't know how to get it done properly.” Doran said while in deep thought. 

 “She has bigger things to worry about, I would say,” He continued, “How to control her son, who is still a boy, while he is in the grasp of Margaery Tyrell, how to keep her house from crumbling under the weight of the crown. The least she has to worry about  _ is _ Sansa Stark.”

  “So she finds out where Sansa Stark, heir to Winterfell, is and allows her to go back home, with the possibility of Sansa taking back the North,” Oberyn shook his head, “I don't believe it. Cersei Lannister does let hatred and anger cloud her head, but she is not stupid.”

  “What about marrying her off to Ramsay Bolton?” 

  “She would do that. Marry her to the family who killed her brother and mother. I just don't think she did.” Oberyn replied.

 “Why?”

  “The Lannisters kept her in King’s Landing for a reason. They wanted to make sure that after they murdered her family, there wouldn't be a Stark in the North. But, she got away when that little cunt choked to death. If they found her, why not just bring her to that stinking pile of a city. It's because they didn't find her, they didn't know she married Ramsay Bolton, and they didn't know she is back in the North. Mayhaps, they still do not know.”

  Doran nodded pensively. He turned his head to look out of the window. Elia used to love watching the clouds drift by.

 “The Boltons are cruel. They are harming her, I am sure of it,” Doran glanced at Oberyn with a sad look in this dark eyes, “Brienne of Tarth plans to rescue her. She wanted to know if we will allow Sansa into Sunspear and to offer her solace. If everything goes as planned, of course.”

 “You plan to accept, I hope.”

  “I do.”

  “Good. We shouldn't stand by and watch as the Lannisters succeed in breaking another girl, who was once full of liveliness.”

  “These are the Boltons.” Doran corrected.

 “ Who are an extension of the Lannisters.” Oberyn shot back.

 “That there are, brother,” Doran paused before continuing, “We couldn't save Elia. But, we found justice by removing Gregor Clegane’s head. We need to help Sansa before she ends up dead with not a soul out there to avenge her.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 Ramsay invited Sansa to the Great Hall that morning. No doubt to assert his power over her in front of his bannermen. She tightened the laces of the sleeves on her gown, so they wouldn't show the bruises on her wrists. Sansa waited next to her chamber door, which was locked, for her husband to escort her to the Great Hall.

  Once in the Great Hall, Sansa took the seat next to Ramsay at raised table at the head the room. In the middle chair sat Roose Bolton, Warden of the North. 

  For three hours, matters were discussed, people were sentenced to death by flaying, and Lords were greeted and granted stays in the castle.

 Maester Wolkan stepped up to hand Roose the final parchment. Her goodfather read it slowly before handing it over to Ramsay.

 “The Night’s Watch need more recruits to take the black.” Roose announced to the room of watchful men. 

 Sansa felt Ramsay's eyes burning a hole into the side of her head. She turned and glanced at him to find him smirking at her with glint in his eyes.

  “Some men and our Lord Commander, Jon Snow, died during a fight with the Wildlings at the Wall.” Roose Bolton read aloud.

 It was as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Her head began to spin as she struggled for air for a few moments.  _ Lord Commander. Jon Snow. Died.  _

__ A cry lodged in her throat. She fought to restrain herself from sobbing in front of a room of seventy-five men. When her vision became clear, she found all eyes on her.

 “Are you alright, my wife?” Ramsay asked with insincere concern laced in his voice. He reached over and placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed. Hard.

 She bobbed her head up and down quickly. Sansa felt the sudden need to get sick. She could feel the burn of bile in the back of her throat.

  “Yes, just a little dizzy.” She answered back.

  The smirk never left Ramsay's face. But what came out of his mouth next sent fear rocketing through her entire body.

"Maybe, you are with child. I heard women often become dizzy and sick, when they are pregnant.” 

_ No. Oh no. I can't. Please no.  _ Sansa shook her head. 

 “I haven't eaten today, that is all.”

 “Maester Wolkan,” Ramsay called, “Take my wife and see if she is with child.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

  “I will need you the unlace your gown and lie back on the bed, my lady.” Maester Wolkan told her softly. 

_ No. I'm not with child. I'm not pregnant with a child, who was created from a monster’s seed. _

 “My lady!” Maester Wolkan snapped Sansa out of her thoughts by placing a hand on her shoulder.

 He repeated himself to her and waited patiently as she laid back on the back. The old man stood above her and put his hands on her belly. Maester Wolkan pushed down gently on her stomach and then her navel.

 “Was that the first time you have felt dizzy, my lady?” The kind man asked. Sansa nodded her head. “And when you felt dizzy, did you feel the need to get sick?” 

 “Yes, but it was because of...m-my…”She trailed off as tears gathered in her eyes. 

 “Your half brother’s passing,” He finished for her, “I'm sorry, my lady.” 

 He cleared his throat and straightened up. “I do not think you are with child. But, if you are it is too soon to tell. It takes a certain amount of time after  _ being  _ with your husband, before you shall see the signs of a child quickening in your womb.” Wolkan told her calmly. 

  That  assured her some. Not much. Something deep inside her kept her worries at bay. She let out a heavy breath and sat up. Sansa began lacing her dress back up when she spotted it. A corkscrew. She peered over at Maester Wolkan, who was hunched over a table, seeming to be preparing some sort of brew. Silently, she glided over to the table and laid her hand over it.

  “This brew should help ease your stomach, my lady.” He said as he began to turn around.

  She closed her fingers around it and winced when she felt the sharp prick of the point stabbing into her skin. Sansa held her hands together, tightly, behind her back. 

  Maester Wolkan extended a bowl of steaming brew towards her and watched, confused, as she refused it. He went to protest, but was cut off by the assurances of Sansa.

  “Thank you, Maester Wolkan."

* * *

* * *

 

  She had to wait for the right opportunity. Sansa had found one. Ramsay and his bannermen left to go to battle with Stannis Baratheon’s army.

 The lock clicked open from the force of the corkscrew. Sansa slowly opened the door, little by little, until she could peek out. The corridor was empty. She quickly threw down the corkscrew and scurried to the end of the hallway. Pulling the hood the cloak lower to obscure her face, she hurries to the ruined tower and prepares to light the candle. 

  The horror racked through her body when she witnessed the Baratheon army demolished by the Bolton cavalry. She saw them making their way back to the castle. Still a mile or two away from Winterfell’s walls. 

  As fast as she can walk, she starts making her way back to her cage. When Myranda appears in front of her, with an arrow notched and pointed directly at her, she freezes in her tracks.

  She locks eyes with Theon, who standing beside her. Myranda goes on a spiel about only needing specific parts to make an heir,and mutilating the rest of Sansa’s body. When the arrow goes whizzing past her shoulder, it's as if time stopped. The arrow embeds itself into the wall behind her as Theon grabs a hold of Myranda’s leather armor and hurls her over the wooden rail. Her screams die as her head connects with the ground and her blood paints the snow a vibrant red.

  “Open the gates!” A bannermen yells. Theon seizes Sansa's hand and pulls her with him up stairs and to the top of the wall. 

  He climbs on top and drags her up next to him. Sansa feels the air leave her throat when she looks down. She shakes her head. 

  “It's too high. We...will find another way.” She rushed out breathlessly.

   “The snow will soften the impact,” Theon tries assuring, but Sansa continues shaking her head, “Sansa! Do you trust me?” He squeezes her hand in his, while moving her arm in jerky movements.

   She looks down at the snow covered ground once more before fixating her eyes on his. Sansa let out a deep and breath and squeezes his hand. Then, they jump.

  Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Anything you want to ask, tell, or share, just comment below. Reviews keep me motivated! Later, Gators.


	3. In the Clear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty lengthy. Hope you like!

   The freezing cold air stung her cheeks and nose. All she felt was numbness in her legs and lost all feeling in her fingertips, long before. They've been running for hours. No stops. Just running.

  Sansa's sides ached from the lack of proper breathing. Ramsay's dogs barking in the distance spurred them to keep moving. Theon was stilling grasping her hand, pulling her along behind him.

  When they came along a frozen lake, she whimpered. He stopped and looked at her. The pain and exhaustion in her eyes evident.

  “We must. You haven't seen what his hounds can do to a person.” He urged, nudging her to the edge of the lake.

  She nodded, though you could barely see it. Sansa was very sure that her head was frozen in place, just like her fingers were frozen around Theon’s hand. She slowly followed him in. The ice breaking underneath of them and Sansa's gasp of shock filling the air.

 _I'm not going to make it. This is how I die._ Theon used all his strength to heave her through the icy water. Determined to get her to safety. Wherever that may be.

   The loud barks were getting closer. After wading through the lake for what felt like an eternity. They reached the other side and trekked back into the woods. Their soaked clothes plastered to their bodies, subjecting them to additional weight to carry. Sansa shivered viscously as her escape companion tugged her with him.

  The eldest Stark daughter collapsed, taking Theon down with her. He tried to lift her in his arms, but was also too weak.  

  “Please,” He begged,”You have to get up! Sansa, get up! I cannot not carry you. Just a little more.”

  She pulled herself up, tiredly, and snatched his arm for support. Huddled close, they began again, walking this time. Both too weak to run.

  They trudged on for another couple hours before stopping, finally. Sitting under an uplifted tree, Sansa let her mind drift. She thought of the sun and fluffy clouds. This was a first. First time yearning to be some place other than the North, other than home. She felt Theon’s skinny arms wrap around her and pull her towards him. Sansa's head flopped down on his shoulder and allowed him to hold her. The last person to hold her had been her mother. Right before everyone went their separate ways. _We never should have left._

  Barking interrupted the silence. They were close. Really close.

  “Go! Run!” Theon urged her.

  “No! I won't make it without you.” She said as she tried to yank him back over.

  “You _will_ make it. You are Sansa Stark. You're stronger than you think.” He replied before running off in the direction of the noise.

   She listened to sounds of talking and growling. Suddenly, the hounds were upon her. Baring their teeth in her face, the bannermen struggling to keep them from attacking.

  “I can't wait to see what parts Ramsay cuts off of you next.” A man said from atop his horse.

  “Lady Bolton, return with us at once.” Another commanded from the ground. Grabbing her cloak, he tried to haul her off the snowy earth floor, but turned at the sound of pounding hooves racing at them.

  “It's a bloody woman.” Someone cried out before the woman on horseback plunged her sword into his stomach.

  Another man, boy rather, came speeding in behind. He leaned forward and swung his blade at a Bolton bannermen. The boy attacked and deflected with seeming difficulty.

 Sansa swings her head around to see the woman had fallen from her horse. She watched the woman, with the height and strength of a man, crawl forward and grab the hilt of her sword. A Bolton bannermen lashes out his foot, it connecting with her jaw, before advancing at her. Their swords clang together multiple times before she gains the upper hand. The mighty woman slashes at his back, and when he falls to his knees, takes the man’s life by slicing her great blade through his throat.

  The blonde warrior hurled around and locked the gaze of the bannermen, who was speeding at her, and slashed at him. Catching him in the leg, he tips over in his saddle and falls, bringing down the horse on top and him.

  The man scrambled to wrestle himself out from underneath his horse. He was scared. Sansa saw the fear trembling through him as he struggled.

   _Scared. Of what,_ she thought to herself, _He surely couldn't be afraid of death. Death. The simplest thing there is._

The man's qualms are finally put to rest by a dagger entering his flesh.

   Sansa's attention is directed back to the boy, who must be the woman's travel partner, and who is now sprawled in the snow. She watches him inch back on the heels of his palms and feet. A Bolton bannermen advancing towards him with his sword drawn.

The point of a sword appears through the juncture of his neck and shoulder. The man spits out blood, it falling down his chin, before he hits the snow.

   Theon straightens up, a sword clasped in his hands. _Reek. No. Theon Greyjoy._

   Sansa feels a small wave of relief wash over her. _We’re safe. For now. But, what about tomorrow?_

   The woman walks over and kneels, placing her sword at Sansa's feet. When she looked up, Sansa recognized her. From King’s Landing. A Lady Knight from King's Landing.

  “Lady Sansa Stark, I am Brienne of Tarth,” She turned and gestured towards the boy, “My squire, Podrick Payne.”

   _Podrick. Tyrion’s former squire._

“Lady Stark, I swore to your mother that I would find and protect you.”

    _My mother. Still looking after me even in death._

Sansa took a count to compose herself before speaking.

 “Thank you, Lady Brienne. House Stark will forever be indebted to you.”

 With that, Brienne of Tarth raised and pledged her sword to Sansa Stark.

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  Ellaria’s thighs trembled from where they were wrapped around Oberyn’s waist. She climbed higher and higher up her peak of pleasure as his thrusts sped up. He shifted her thigh up higher on his waist, and tilted his hips accordingly. Nudging that spot deep inside her, he sent his lover over the edge. Back arched and head completely thrown back, she moaned.

 “Oberyn...mmm.”

  He rocked against her for a final time before spilling inside her. The scent of sweat and their coupling overwhelming his senses. Oberyn looked down at the beauty beneath him. Her eyes, still hooded with satisfaction, stared back at him.

 “Something plagues your mind, my love.”

 Ellaria did always know when something was bothering him. Fifteen years and four daughters together, she knew everything about Oberyn.

 “Why would you assume that?” Was his reply as he pulled out of her and laid beside his paramour.

 “Oberyn, I have loved you for many years. I know when you are thinking a lot about something,” She threaded her fingers through his dark hair and guided his head to lay on her bronzed collarbone, “Besides, that wasn't the best _fuck_ we’ve ever had. You are usually more… _enthusiastic.”_

Ellaria felt his lips shake with laughter on her skin. Calloused fingertips traced the delicate flesh of her hip as he pondered on what to say.

 “Do you remember Sansa Stark?”

 “Yes I do. A fearful bird caged by lions, hair like river of blood. I never got to meet her though, but I did see her walking through the gardens quite often.”

 “Neither did I, meet her that is,” He said as he placed a gentle kiss on her skin, “She is a wolf, a gentle and innocent one, but still a wolf. _Was_ innocent. I imagine that has changed.”

“She escaped. I know that, but you know what happened to her. Don't you?” Ellaria sat up, hauling Oberyn upright with her. He nodded looking deep into her eyes.

“Poor girl was married off to Ramsay Bolton. The bastard son of Roose Bolton. Escaped from the monsters who murdered her family only to be recaptured by another set of monsters who murdered her family.”

 “Is she still living?”

 “I believe so, my love.”

 “How did you come upon this information?”

 “Doran received a letter from Brienne of Tarth, regarding Sansa. She plans to rescue her from Winterfell and wanted to permission to bring her here for safety.”

 “Doran accepted, and you pray for this plan to succeed.” Ellaria stated.

  “I do. That girl has been treated as Lannister and Bolton property for years. She has, no doubt, suffered enough pain to last a lifetime. We have to help”

  “We do.”

* * *

* * *

 

  


 Waves rocked the ship back and forth, the motion making Sansa’s stomach turn. Sansa, Brienne, and Podrick departed from a small harbor at White Harbor about a moon ago. Sailing to Sunspear. _Dorne._ Sansa doesn't recall ever meeting a Dornishman or woman before. Only remembers having seen Oberyn Martell, during his time in King's Landing, and his lover.

 The giggles and blushes made by servant girl anytime his name entered conversation. The strut when he walked and the confidence that radiated from him was what she recalled.

  _What do they get? Out of taking me in. Mayhaps, they hope to receive something in return. We do have a common enemy in the Lannisters._

Sansa felt the burn of bile in her throat and fought to keep it down. Every morning was spent spitting up the food from supper, the night before, into a wooden bucket with Podrick by her side. Podrick has somewhat filled space she once thought Theon would occupy.

 The tearful farewell from Theon still hurt her heart. She understood, his yearning to go back home. Hopefully, he can find peace. That was all Sansa wished for. For someone that she cares for, if not herself, to be happy once again.

 Podrick stroked Sansa's auburn hair to soothe her. She quickly learned that while Podrick is awkward and shy, he is very loyal. His comfort has been greatly appreciated on this miserable journey.

 “The ship’s captain told Brienne we should arrive within a day or two.” His soft words interrupting the eldest Stark daughter's thoughts.

 Sansa opened her mouth to reply, instantly regretting it, when the sick she had been trying to keep down came out into the bucket. She heaved for a few counts, until her throat was sore, before putting her hand on Podrick's.

 “Water, please.” A voice, she wasn't quite sure was her own, rasped out.

 Her friend scurried to the other side of the room, pouring her cup, and returned to her. He placed the cup at her lips and helped her drink.

 “Your stomach is practically empty, my lady.You should try to eat.”

 “I do eat, Podrick.”

 “Yes, you eat. Then you get sick. The food you’ve eaten comes back up again,” Podrick brushed away the sweaty hair off her forehead, “You only eat lunch and supper, even though supper shouldn't count since you throw that up the next morning.”

  “I'm not made for sailing.”

  “You're right about that, my lady. I've never seen someone get seasick this _much_ before.”

  “Am I that bad?”

  “Well...umm...no. I mean everyone gets seasick. Well, not everyone. I got seasick during my first time on a ship. But, it passed within a seven-night.”

 “So I am that bad, Podrick.” Sansa said while smiling softly. His attempt to make her feel better warmed her heart.

 “Did you meet Oberyn Martell while working as Tyrion's squire?” As the thought suddenly came to her mind.

 “Not properly, no. Tyrion spoke with him a few times, though.”

 “Do you think he's kind, a good man?”

 “I believe so. He was Tyrion's champion in his trial by combat.”

 “Was he?”

 “Fought and killed Gregor Clegane, this was before he let me go that is.”

 “Prince Oberyn must be a skilled warrior to have beat the Mountain,” She said thoughtfully, “Is Tyrion still in King's Landing?”

 Podrick shook his head and seeing the confusion cross Sansa's, he began to explain.

 “Tyrion killed his father after the trial. Jaime helped him out of the city and I went with Brienne.”

“Tywin is dead?” A grin started to sprout on her pale face. With the nod of confirmation from her friend, laughter bubbled from her throat. The sound of Sansa's chuckling filled the room as Podrick stared at her in shock.

  _Tywin Lannister is dead. DEAD. Tyrion killed his own father. Some father he was, treating Tyrion in such an awful manner._

 When her laughter finally died down, she reached for her goblet of water. Throat still sore from being sick, and now her amusement, she took a sip.

 “Will I be safe in Dorne?” Sansa asked aloud, more to herself.

 “I’m not sure. We’ll be with you. Brienne and I, we're staying in Dorne with you, you know that right?”

  _They pledged to stand by me and protect me,_ Sansa reminded, _Protect. No one can protect anyone._

 

* * *

* * *

 

 The palace was in a frenzy with the final preparations for their upcoming guest. Even though, majority of the palace had no clue on the guest was. It was still the major topic of discussion. The servants, cooks, washerwoman all gossiped.Doran filled a handful of guards and servants in on who was coming, to make their jobs easier.

 Ser Daemon Sand was tasked by both Doran and Oberyn to escort the party of three to Sunspear. They were due to arrive by midmorning.

 The ruling Dornish Prince and his brother sat in their family's solar, sipping sour red wine.

 “I had Alara set up a chamber for Lady Stark close to yours. Is this okay with you?” Doran asked.

 “Of course.”

 “Good. Other than her two companions coming with her, you are the only familiar face she has.”

 “I’ll do whatever I can to make her feel comfortable. Ellaria will as well.”

 “I'm sure you will. Just don't overstep your limits, Oberyn.”

 One thin eyebrow raised up on Oberyn's tanned forehead. He cocked his head to the side and locked eyes with his brother.

 “You think I would force myself upon a girl, who has already suffered at the hands of perverted men,” His tone low, but fierce, “You think that little of your own sibling.”

 “Don't take that tone with me, Oberyn. And no I don't think ill of you. But, I do know you. You are passionate, as is everyone else in Dorne, and you may make the girl nervous. Without meaning to, you may scare her off. May make her think that you are just like every man in King's Landing. May make her think you just want one thing from her.”

 “Why do you think I’ll even have feelings for this girl?”

 “You have feelings for _every_ girl.” Doran stated seriously before he cracked a small smile.

* * *

* * *

  


 Clenching the reins tightly in her hands, she scanned the horizon. Mountains stretched for miles far up ahead. The Narrow Sea lay to the west. Perfect blue waves lapping onto the sand. _It looked so beautiful now that they weren't sailing through it._

 On horseback for a few hours had Sansa's back and hips aching. Ser Daemon Sand led the party of four as he narrated the scenery of Dorne.

 “There it is. Sunspear.” Ser Daemon Sand’s voice broke through her thoughts. She tore her gaze from the ocean and looked ahead.

 Sunspear stood tall against the bare sand. The three massive Winding Walls encircling and protecting the settlement. The tallest structure catching Sansa's eye as the sun glinted of the point of the tower.

 “That is the Spear Tower. It holds the noble prisoners of the city. And the shorter one is the Tower of the Sun. The twin seats for our Princes of Dorne can be found there. Oh, that would be the Sandship. Stronghold of House Martell, a bit ugly in coloring if I am being honest.” He pointed out each different structure.

 “It's lovely.” _It was lovely. It was beautiful. It was almost unreal. This city, this castle, these people, even though she only met a few. It all seemed unreal. Too nice. Too peaceful. It was like a dream._

Sansa found Ser Daemon’s eyes on her. His eyes were as blue as the sky. Sort of like Ramsay's, in color, except there wasn't a trace of malice or cruelty in Ser Daemon's. He smiled at her, dimples revealing themselves to her.

 “You’ll be safe here, Lady Stark,” His deep voice promised her, “Come on, Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn are very eager for your arrival.”

 Sansa's horse trotted forward, behind their guide and next to Podrick's. Suddenly feeling dizzy, she placed her hands on the horse's mane. This heat was going to be something she have to get used to.

 Obviously not acquainted with the sizzling sun, her skin burned. King's Landing was always warm with a gentle breeze. Dorne was hot. Very hot. Black spots entered her vision once again, Sansa leaning forward to stable herself.

 “Are you okay?” Podrick asked.

 “I'm alright, Pod. Not used to the heat is all.” She tried to reassure him.

 Ser Daemon glanced back. “A cool bath and lunch should help, my lady. I’ll ask the maids to draw you up one when we get there.”

 “Thank you.”

 

* * *

* * *

  


They rode up a narrow path and through the open gates of Sunspear. Dismounting and handing off their horses, Ser Daemon led Sansa, Podrick, and Brienne up a dune-colored stone walkway to the entrance of the palace.

 Outside sat Doran in his palanquin with Areo Hotah and Oberyn standing on either side of him.

 Sansa took in Doran’s appearance, he was a rather frail looking man with white hair from age. He had blanket in his lap, covering his legs and feet. She heard about his condition. Gout, so severe that he could hardly walk.

 The auburn woman's head swam with lightheadedness once again as she directed her attention to Oberyn Martell. In King's Landing, she must not have gotten a proper look at him. He was gorgeous. Even put Loras Tyrell to shame.

  _Oberyn Martell is beautiful,_ her last thought was before her world faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in and they're finally in the same scene. Even though they technically haven't met yet. Next chapter!


	4. The Wolf and the Viper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A relatively short chapter. This one is bit of a rollercoaster of emotions. Enjoy!

Ser Daemon lunged forward, catching her in his arms before she made contact with the hard stone. Dropping to his knees, he hefted her limp body onto his lap and shielded her face from the sun with his muscular frame.

“Seven hells!” Oberyn rushed over and kneeled beside his sworn knight. Podrick dropped down next to him .

“This journey has been unkind to her, your grace. She gets sick every morning and this heat is bothersome.” Podrick informed.

 Peeking over Ser Daemon's shoulder, he was stunned at the beauty of the pale woman.

“Take her to the room that was prepared for her and fetch the maester, Ser Daemon.” Doran ordered calmly.

Oberyn watched Sansa get carried away, into the palace. Her long, crimson mane swaying over Ser Daemon's arm with every step he took. He was in trance. The allure surrounding this girl took his breath away. This dangerously gaunt and ill-treated woman, who still oozed mystery and compassion at the same time. It was different from Ellaria. His lover was always, for as long as he has known her, fiery yet kind. Nevermore was she mysterious. Ellaria hardly ever tiptoed around her desires, or feelings. She never held her tongue, even though neither has he, on matter that she opposed.

There was a sense of forced secrecy that encircled Sansa. _Seven hells, I haven't even spoken with her yet._

“Alara, please escort our guests to their chambers. We can reconvene to discuss important matters when Lady Stark is feeling well again and you have had proper rest.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Brienne responded to Prince Doran.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

  Maester Caleotte waddled in on his short, stumpy legs. Doran watched his short frame walk into his solar, stopping for a count to bow, and take a seat across from Doran.

“I didn't not grant you permission to sit.” The Dornishman scolded.

“My apologies, your grace.” He said, but didn't make a move to rise out of his chair.

 The crippled prince smiled at the man. Maester Caleotte was a calm man, not easily ruffled. Never intimidated by the power a person held over him.

“I won't always be here, Maester. Let the Gods forbid that one of our enemies ends up ruling Dorne. They won't be as kind as House Martell has been to you. We greatly appreciate all you have done for our family.” Doran told him softly, “Now, how is Lady Stark? Is she well?”

“Still out, I'm afraid. Poor child probably hasn't had proper rest in ages.”

“Is that all? Lack of sleep.”

“Well, I checked the skin that I could without waking her. She has sunburn, but I have salve for that. Most likely, dehydrated as well. But, there was something that I thought I noticed, your grace.”

“Do you think, or do you know?”

“I only presume, your grace. When she wakes, I shall ask her a few questions just to be certain.”

“If there is something wrong, I want you to get her permission first, before you share it with anyone, even me, do you understand?”

“Of course, your grace.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

 Oberyn sat at her bedside. The sudden need to visit and be by her side overwhelmed him. So, here he waited in the dark room, because of the covers pinned over the windows to block the sunlight, for Sansa to regain consciousness.

Out of habit, Oberyn unsheathed his dagger from his hip and began to fiddle with it. He ran a finger down the shiny curved blade, imagining sinking the tip into Cersei Lannister’s throat. Normally, Oberyn was against the harming of women and children, but Cersei Lannister wasn't a woman in his mind. She was a vicious monster. A vicious lioness. And this lioness needed to be put down.

The hilt of the dagger was the head of a red viper snake carved from wood, painted a dark blood-red with small rubies taking the place of the eyes. Gripping the hilt, he flipped the weapon into the air before catching it in his right palm. Slicing the dagger back and forth, Oberyn pictured taking the heads of the Lannisters and the Boltons.

“Oberyn, stop!” Ser Daemon spoke up from where he was sitting in the corner of the room.

The blade stilled in his grasp as he turned his head towards his blue-eyed friend. The Bastard of Godsgrace nodded in the direction of the bed.

On the bed, Sansa was awake. Her vivid eyes locked on the dagger in his hand. Sansa's gaze flickered up to Oberyn and then to the Ser Daemon, who had risen from his spot.

“Pardon, your grace, I would stand, but I believe I don't have the strength.” She rasped out, pulling herself up against the headboard.

“It's quite alright, Lady Stark. I wouldn't ask an ill woman to stand just because I enter a room. That would be extremely insensitive.”

“Thank you, your grace, for your kindness.”

Oberyn dipped his chin and beckoned Ser Daemon over.

“Get Maester Caleotte.” He ordered swiftly.

Sansa's eyes glanced around nervously as she fingered the strands of her hair.

Oberyn openly stared at her. He was assessing her. His gaze was different from how the men in King's Landing and even in Winterfell's looked at her. He was reading her emotions, not leering. Not visualizing Sansa's gown dipped further down her chest or hoping for tiny glimpse of her legs when she gathered her dress.

Sansa wasn't used to foreigners caring about how she felt or her well-being. She watched him reach out and set a hand on hers, gently. His long, slender fingers that she knew were dangerously skilled. Calloused palms from years of spear work. But while these hands might be menacing to enemies, they were kind and tender to her. These palms helped ease her anxiety, somewhat. Sansa needed confirmation, though. She couldn't trust these people and this place without it.

“Your grace, permission to be frank?” Her voice soft and shaky.

“You never have to ask to be honest, at least not to me. And call me Oberyn.”

“As you wish, yo... Oberyn,” Sansa took a moment to breathe in deeply, hoping this question would not offend, “I've heard stories of Dorne and your people. Will I be safe here?”

The thin eyebrows that framed his eyes rose up to his widow’s peak. _Stories._

“I presume you've heard of our hot-bloodedness, our “rage”, our lustful perversions. Only two of them are the truth with the Dornish. Rage goes for everyone in Westeros, as well as everyone across the Narrow Sea.”

“Forgive me, I didn't mean to..” She was interrupted by Oberyn.

“No need to apologise, sweetling. You just shouldn't fear what people tell you in stories. Even if you think the stories are true, I am willing to bet my dagger that some part isn't. Exaggerated by some weary storyteller.”

_Sweetling,_ Sansa thought, _He called me sweetling._

“I can't speak for everyone in Dorne, but I can promise you something,” He paused and leaned in, pushing a lock of her hair behind an ear, “My family and I will do anything we can to protect and aid you. And I will _never_ hurt you.”

Sansa finally breathed for the first time since she left King's Landing. The notion to peek over her shoulder, to ensure there wasn't a lion, or a stag, or flayed man close, had disappeared.

 Sansa Stark was free.

“I've always wanted to travel here. In King's Landing, I often played a game with my handmaiden, Shae, at the docks. We would watch the ships come and go and I would invent a story about where they were going, who was on them, what they carried. I almost always imagined there were sailing here. To stay where it's beautiful and warm.” Sansa told with a small smile appearing on her face. “Shae thought it was a silly game.”

 A rap on the door directed their attention to Maester Caleotte, who was standing in the archway of the room.

“Sansa, this is Dorne’s finest maester, Caleotte” The bald, smooth faced man bowed.

“Could you have Alara fetch some fruit and water, Ser Daemon,” Maester Caleotte voiced, “Small meals and lots of fluids should help, child. I have some salve for these burns.” Taking a small jar with a thick ivory cream coating the inside out of his wool pouch, he perched himself on the edge of the bed, opposite Oberyn.

Unscrewing the jar, he dipped his fingers in and gathered a generous amount of salve on his tips. Maester Caleotte applied the balm soothingly to her hands, neck, and face.

“You should apply this to any area of skin that was scorched by the sun and before you step outside. At least, until your skin becomes acclimated with the heat, alright child.” Waiting patiently for her nod of understanding.

“Now, there are some questions I would like to ask in private. If you don't mind, my lady.”

“I don't mind, Maester.”

“Pardon, your grace, I ask if you could leave for a few moments.”

“Of course. Sansa, I’ll be hall with Ser Daemon if you need me.” Oberyn squeezed her hand gently and then swiftly exited.

Maester Caleotte rounded the featherbed and took the seat Oberyn had occupied.

“Forgive me for these personal inquires, my lady. When was your last moon’s blood?”

The question stunned her. Red flames of embarrassment spread through cheeks and down her slender throat. The worst part, it had been sometime since she last bled.

“Well over a moon ago, maester.” She told him with tears welling in her eyes.

“I was told you have been getting morning sickness,” Pausing for her confirmation, “Are your breasts tender or sore.”

“A little.” Sansa was on the verge of sobbing. Finding a little comfort in grasping the maester’s palm.

“Before traveling here, did you lay with your husband.”

“I never lay with him. He _raped me!”_ Tears broke forth like water from an exploding dam. Her chest heaving as she tried to take a breath.

In the hall, Oberyn curled his fist when he caught what Sansa cried. _Ramsay raped her. Forced himself on and in her._

“I’m sorry, child. You didn't deserve such brutality.”

“Go on. Say it! Tell me, what that filthy monster did to me and my body.” Sansa spat in anger.

“My lady, I believe you are pregnant.”

 

Within that moment, Sansa Stark was no longer free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They met! I couldn't resist having Oberyn call Sansa sweetling!  
> Towards the end, it got a little rough for Sansa. But, it has to get worse before it can get better. Remember that! So, try not to hate me when things get painful and shitty. I am going to apologize in advance, though.  
> I'm also considering doing my chapters differently. I want to start writing different povs, other than Sansa and Oberyn. I've really wanted write Ser Daemon and Arianne Martell, some others too. Do you guys approve if I start doing that?  
> Hope you enjoyed! Review, comment, and ask me anything! Love you, peeps!


	5. Debts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

 Sansa supped on a small bowl of oatmeal with chunks of sliced apple sprinkled throughout. Forcing spoonfuls in her mouth, too befuddled to even savor the taste.

She shifted uncomfortably in her corset. Pulling it away from her tender chest wasn't helping either. Sansa looked up, and watched the young servant girl restock the fireplace.

“What is your name?” This young girl had been aiding her since Sansa had awoke. Fetching small meals in the mornings, keeping the chamber warm, and applying salve to her burns, but Sansa still didn't know her name.

It had been three days since finding out there was a leech in her womb. Sansa was in such daze, she had forgotten her manners.

“Alara, my lady.” The woman with long, dark ringlets tumbling down her back, dipped her head.

“Alara, I haven't bathed since I got here. Could you prepare one for me.”

“Of course, my lady.” She set out in search for tub.

 

* * *

* * *

 

  


Oberyn had a routine. Train with Obara until midmorning, take lunch with Sansa, and spend the rest of his day with Ellaria. Even though, this routine was new, he helped him look forward to the upcoming day.

Sparring with Obara had especially tiring today, she was getting rather impressive with a spear.

After washing up, Oberyn began towards Sansa's chamber.

It was as if something had changed. Sansa had changed. He witnessed it as he stepped back in the room after Maester Caleotte had looked her over. The mask that descended her face, when she caught sight of him. The false happiness she expressed when they began to converse again. The lies that spewed from her lips when he asked if the maester had found anything.

Essentially, it was her choice to share if there was something wrong. But, Sansa was pretending in presence of others.

Arriving at her door, he sent Daemon, who leaning up against the dun-colored wall outside her chamber, a wink. Rapping his knuckles against the wood, he waited.

“Come in.” Sansa's small voice called out.

Glowing skin. That’s what met his eyes as he pushed the door open. The glowing, porcelain skin of Sansa Stark’s back. Her crimson hair pulled over her right shoulder. Smallclothes covering her from the waist on down. Sansa's skin looked smooth. So smooth. Begging to be caressed and kissed.

“Alara, how long will it for the water to be heated?”

“Forgive me, Sansa, I didn't know you were planning to bathe.”

Spinning around, she gasped. Placing her hands over breasts to shield herself.

“What are you doing? Why are you in here?” She demanded.

Glancing around the room, he spotted her robe. Grabbing the article, Oberyn walked over and stood in front of her.

“I came to take lunch with you, sweetling. I never intended to see you in this state.” He said as he wrapped the robe around her shoulders and pulled it close, allowing her to drop her hands.

 “Thank you,” Sansa pinching the opening of the robe between her fingers, keeping it closed, “I ate already. I would have waited if I knew you wanted to…” She trailed off.

“You don't have to something because it's what I _want."_

 

* * *

* * *

 

  

 _What does he want. Their shared lunches and pleasant talks. He wants me to be content. Agreeable,_ Sansa thought, _Agreeable. So that I'm able to repay him. He wants repayment._

Sansa stared into his deep dark eyes. They were almost the same height, she realized. Oberyn just two or three inches taller. Her eyes drifted down to his jaw. His jawline was sharp. Lustrous hair. Bronzed skin. He was gorgeous. And he was a Dornishman.

Sansa knew their reputation. The Dornish are sexual creatures. Known for their lustful appetites,multiple partners, and skill in bed.

_Oberyn Martell was skilled. He had to be. Maybe, it won't hurt. If he knows what to do, then he’ll guide me. Coupling can be good, fun even. Margaery made it seem pleasing when she spoke about it. It could be good._

 Sansa released her fingers and let the robe fall loosened. Her breastbone exposed to the warm air. She shrugged out of it, hearing the thud as hit the floor. Bending forward, she pushed her silk smallclothes down her hips, it pooling at her feet. She rose to her full height.

Sansa expected Oberyn's gaze to waver and for his eyes to trek down her body. They didn't. He held her blue orbs.

Sansa placed a small hand on his abdomen, running it up to his chest, where she fisted his tunic. She stood on her tiptoes and mouthed at his chin.

“Sansa, what do want?” Oberyn asked softly. His lips brushing her ear as he spoke.

“I want you to fuck me.” Those words sounding foreign as the came from her mouth.

Oberyn framed her cheeks with his palms and pulled her away gently. Extracting her fingers from his tunic.

“No, you think you owe me. You think you owe my family. That your indebted,” The prince spoke clearly, searching her eyes, “You are _not._ You will never owe me, the Martells, or Dorne anything.

“You’re beautiful, you're kind, and so much more. You never have to feel obligated to please me, or anyone. Do you understand?”

The tears that gathered in her eyes spilled over as she nodded. Bringing her head towards him, he pecked her forehead.Stepping around her, Oberyn nabbed her robe off the floor and extended to her.

“You have been too kind and I…,” Sansa started to sputter as the feeling of sorrow began suffocating her, “I’ve been unhonest.”

“It's okay, sweetling. It's just fine.”

The pressure building and building in her chest. Her heart pounding uncontrollably as grasped his tunic in her fists. Squeezing tightly.

“I'm pregnant!” Her words like shards of glass, cutting him deeply when they burst from her trembling lips.

Sansa was like a leaf in a storm, shaking so violently. Loud sobs escaping her throat as she burrowed into his neck.

“It's okay. It's okay, sweetling. You’re going to be okay. Shhh.” Oberyn affirmed, stroking her hair.

“You’re okay.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

  


 Violet eyes flickered over the terrain. The desert stretched for miles. Sand swirling in the air at the slightest breeze.

“Are we close?” The man inquired to his travel companion, who had stopped to let his horse rest.

“Almost. About a two days ride more to go.” Was the reply.

Climbing back on his horse, he waited for his friend. Fingering his mare’s solid white mane, he used one hand to wrap a long kerchief around his neck. Pulling it up to cover his nose, he guided his horse forward.

Sunspear, here they come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mystery man?  
> Hope you enjoyed! Love you guys!


	6. Trust & War Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello peeps!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Ser Daemon watched as Arianne Martell, the eldest child and only daughter, stride gracefully to him. Her teal silks that were lined with gold, flowing behind her.

Arianne had olive skin with large dark eyes and plump lips. Long, lustrous hair that swishes by her waist with every movement. Memories of twisting his fingers through this hair and mouthing at her full breasts, filled his head.

“I thought I was Arianne Martell, daughter of Doran Martell and Lady Mellario of the Free City of Norvos. I thought I was heiress to Sunspear and the future ruling Princess of Dorne.” Arianne stated thoughtfully.

“My sun, of course you are. You are all that and more.” Daemon laid a gentle hand on her face.

“Well then, shouldn't the future ruler of this city be informed when an unknown guest is suddenly residing in our castle.” Her thin eyebrow disappearing under the fluffed fringe of her hair as she removed his palm from her cheek.

The Bastard of Godsgrace swallowed thickly. Arianne was smart. Too smart. Daemon knew that. Much like her father, she thought things through before acting. Calculated and intelligent. Could always spot a liar, but was a magnificent fabricator herself when the time called for it.

“Our guest is known.” Picking his words carefully.

“Our? And, how do _you_ know about this guest?”

“I am a guard, Arianne. A protector for House Martell. We are told these things.”

“You're posted outside this stranger’s door. Probably escorted them into the city too, right Ser Daemon. I asked a few guards myself, they had no idea what I was talking about. So, you and I'm willing to bet, Areo Hotah, and probably a few others know the identity of this visitor.”

She was good. Very good.

“Arianne, talk with Doran. He’ll tell you.”

“No, he won't. My father hates me.” She whispered.

“Then, speak with Oberyn. He has a soft spot for you and you for him.” Ending the conversation and walking away.

 

* * *

* * *

 

  


Podrick nervously ran his fingers down the pommel of his sword at his waist. Bouncing his leg up and down. He was never this anxious around Cersei. Even Tywin.

Doran made him tense. He was so quiet. So observing. Podrick didn't know what the man was going to say or do next.

“Lady Brienne, you haven't introduced me to this young fellow.” Inclining his to Podrick, who sitting off to the side.

“My apologies, your grace. This is my squire, Podrick Payne.” The distant cousin of the King’s Justice stood and bowed at the ruling prince.

Oberyn was perched on the wooden arm of a chair, observing the lady knight and her squire. She was tall. Tallest woman Oberyn had ever seen. Strong in battle, he imagined.

_Podrick. Sansa mentioned him. Asked for him. After, I calmed her down. She asked for him. He must mean something to her._

“You care for her?” Interrupting the pleasantries from both parties.

Brienne and Podrick both turned. The former with a look of surprise and latter with one of puzzlement.

“I do. I swore to her mother, Catelyn, that I would find and protect both of her daughters.” The Maid of Tarth responded.

“And, you?” Oberyn asked Podrick quickly.

“Of course, I care for Sansa,” He paused, leaning forward with his elbows to his knees, “I was around her in King’s Landing, when I served as Lord Tyrion Lannister's squire. I never met her properly, though. Not until we were leaving the North. She was so miserable in the capitol. So lonely, untrusting. When Brienne and I found her and the Greyjoy in the woods outside of Winterfell, she was starved, and a couple hours away from getting frostbite. She's broken. I thought Sansa could use someone to lean on.”

Neither of the people in front of him said another word or moved, and the silence of the room pressed against Oberyn, until he crossed the chamber. The hesitant scratch of his boots against the wood was the only sketch of noise.

“How and who did Sansa escape King's Landing with?” Oberyn asked.

“From what I know, Petyr Baelish helped her and brought her back up North.”

“Littlefinger?” Oberyn spat.

“Yes, your grace. Littlefinger gave her to the Boltons.”

The rage that consumed Oberyn's mind and body was fierce. His heart rate increased drastically as he bared his teeth. Clenching his fists, the knuckles popped. Ramsay Bolton, Cersei Lannister, and now Littlefinger. A list of the names who would draw their last breath at the hands of Oberyn Martell.

“She's with child.” His voice low, so low that everyone in the room almost didn't hear. But, they did.

“Sansa carries an heir to the North,” Catching his brother shake his head in his peripheral, “We wait a year. She gives birth to the child here, and we march our army to Winterfell. Give the seat of the North back to Sansa, until her babe is of age.”

Doran's dark amber orbs glinted with frustration. Rearranging the blankets draped over his lap, he cleared his throat.

“Lady Brienne. Podrick. Would you excuse my brother and I?” He asked.

Brienne bowed her head in acknowledgement and her and Podrick swiftly exited.

“Have you gone mad?” His brother asked calmly.

Oberyn rolled his eyes, knowing a scolding was coming.

“No, I haven't gone mad.” The angry prince hissed.

“Yet, you're speaking like a fool.”

“A fool?” The heat in Oberyn's gaze growing stronger.

“You talk of starting a war with the Boltons, which could mean starting one with the Lannisters and Freys, without even considering what Sansa might want.” Doran said, losing his patience.

“Ramsay Bolton brutalised her! Raped a babe into her belly! Snatched her home and freedom from her! And they murdered her family,” Oberyn roared, slamming his palm down on the dark wood of the table, “They all deserve for the ground to be ripped from underneath them, to watch their names and their houses burn, and to choke on their last breath knowing that they lost! How can you tell me that I’m mad for wanting and thinking this?”

“They do. Those people deserve that and much more, but we do not make that decision. If Sansa wishes to take back her home, that is up to her. If she wants our help, we will aid her. It's not up to you.” Doran looked at his brother. He watched the rage drain from his face.

Oberyn removed his hand from the table, letting it hang limp at his side. _He’s right._

“The last you were consumed with hate like this, you almost didn't return.” Doran said softly.

Memories of the difficult fight with Gregor Clegane filled his mind. He almost lost, almost left his love and family behind. But, he won. By a miracle, some say. The Dornish know the truth. They know the fantastic skill that Oberyn was blessed with. The lethal substance that coated his blade, also gave him the upper hand.

“I did return, brother. I have the evidence. Besides, you can't get rid of me that easily.” The now calm prince replied, striding over to pick up his brother's hand. Oberyn placed a soft kiss on the swollen joints.

“You shared her condition with three others, including myself. Did she grant you the right to?”

That question left him burning.

Sansa didn't give him the right. He had betrayed her confidence out of overwhelming anger. He hadn't been thinking clearly.

_She won't forgive me,_ Oberyn thought to himself, _I have broken her trust._

 

* * *

* * *

 

  


Sansa sat fuming after the visit from Podrick and Brienne. The pleasant visitation and talk with her friends quickly turned sour for Sansa, once they offered their best wishes for her and her growing babe.

_Best wishes. They only pity me. The broken and battered girl, that I am. Broken, battered, and pregnant with the child of monster. No wonder they pity me. Oberyn probably does._

Thinking of his name just angered her more. How dare he presume that he could just blurt that out without her knowledge. The nerve of that man.

The man himself entered, drawing her attention from her thoughts. A guilty and apologetic look plastered on his features.

“I'm sure you are aware as to why I am coming to you so late,” Oberyn said softly, walking over and caressing her hand. Only for Sansa to slap his palm away, “Sansa, I did not mean... I was just trying to… it was a mistake, alright.”

“Mistake,” She laughed harshly, “A mistake is spilling tea on someone's gown. A mistake is stepping on someone's foot while walking past them. _This_ was not a mistake.”

“I was defending you. I meant no harm.” His voice still soft even though he was getting slightly agitated.

“Defending me? From whom? Why?” Sansa rose from the chair.

“I was speaking foolishly at the time, but I thought it would be best to march our army to Winterfell and take it back for your family. As soon as your child arrives, that is.”

“You were going to use a child as part of your war plan without asking the mother first,” She said shaking her head disgustedly, “Well, your plan isn't going to happen because I'm not keeping the babe.”

Oberyn was stunned. Too stunned to speak. All he could do was reach for her. Clasp her dainty hand between his pair and pull her to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed gently. His embrace was warm, and his big, toned arms were protective around her still frail body.

“If that's what you want, it's your body. But, I think you should talk to someone first,” He whispered, rustling her hair. “My paramour, Ellaria has been desperate to meet you. Speak with her, she can help.”

Sansa nodded, cherishing his hold.

“Forgive me, I never meant to betray your trust. It will _never_ happen again, I promise. Sweetling, you can trust me. Will you?”

_Trust._ That word terrified Sansa. The last people she trusted cut her father's head off, after promising her mercy, and sold her like livestock to animals. But, she still found herself saying…

“Always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Review, comment, ask questions, etc.


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